Cold
by High-Functioning Ginger
Summary: He was falling, drowning in the icy hurricane that was being in love with Sherlock. He had to take some action for self-preservation. He had to leave 221B Baker Street.
1. Too Cold

_**AN: So this one kind of ran away with me. It was originally going to be a one-shot songfic based on Elton John's Cold. However it demanded more. So it's going to be a multi-chapter stories inspired by Cold instead. Looks like it will have about 6 chapters with the possibility of an epilogue. I should be updating every 3-4 days (fingers crossed).**_  
><em><strong>This is more of a prologue to "set the mood".<strong>_  
><em><strong>Enjoy!<strong>_

**Disclaimer – I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Cold.**

Love hurts. John had heard this sentiment 100 times and over again. He always thought it was ridiculous.  
>Love didn't hurt; how could it? The love he knew was sweet and warm, like honey. It was cuddling on the couch, inside jokes, sharing hobbies, opinions, quick kisses and passionate snogs.<p>

Nothing painful at all.  
>Unless you count the break-ups of course; but then it's not love anymore is it?<br>Pain and love were two words that didn't belong in the same sentence; or so he thought.

Then he met Sherlock Holmes; who had a habit of completely destroying any preconceived notions the moment he waltzed into your life.  
>John still hadn't decided of that was a good or bad trait.<p>

Meeting Sherlock made John realize that those "sentimental idiots" as he'd previously called them; where right.

Love hurts. Like hell.  
>Love was not warm or fiery he discovered. No that was affection andor passion.

Real love was like being thrust in the middle of the ocean. Swirling unimaginably deep and dangerous.  
>Especially when the object of your desire happens to be a certain consulting detective.<p>

Real love was cold and intense, just like Sherlock's eyes. Drawing you in no matter how valiantly you struggle.

Oh hell. He had to stop this.  
>He'd promised himself he wouldn't let him mind travel down those paths.<p>

But how could he not?

He was completely hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes; and yeah, it hurt.  
>It hurt because Sherlock didn't care.<br>Sherlock was the embodiment of cold it seemed. With icy green eyes, frosted pink lips; even his hair reminded John of cool mahogany, cascading around his porcelain cheekbones.  
>Damn. Not again.<p>

It hurt him to see Sherlock running about; putting himself in danger without a care.  
>I mean sure; he's fantastic and has this uncanny ability to piece together a puzzle at the last minute saving himself and everyone else.<br>Still John always worried that on day he won't be quite fantastic enough; and something would happen to his Sherlock.

Wait. What! When did Sherlock become _"his"?_

If John was honest with himself he was _"his Sherlock"_ practically from day one.  
>After he shot that cabbie.<br>He remembers trying to understand why he pulled that trigger without a second thought.  
>I mean sure; he was a soldier, but this was in London - not a war zone.<br>The only answer his mind _(heart?) _could come up with was_ "He was a threat to my Sherlock."_

_"God help me_", he thought to himself. He had to stop this.

He was falling, drowning in the icy hurricane that was being in love with Sherlock.  
>He had to take some action for self-preservation. He had to leave 221B Baker Street.<br>And soon.


	2. Wrong!

_**AN: So here is chapter 2 a bit ahead of schedule. Yay!**_

_**This is my first time writing for Sherlock's POV. Hopefully I've done an acceptable job of capturing him – though I fear I've hardly done his character justice.**_

_**I find John rather easy to write, but Sherlock was a bit of a battle. **_

_**Let me know what you think!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock Holmes; until he brings them I don't own anything.**

Sherlock couldn't explain it. That was a rather unusual feeling for him.

John was gone. He'd left 221B Baker Street almost a week ago. He said it was all too much. At the time Sherlock was disappointed.

He thought John was enjoying himself; he thought they were friends.

He told John he understood; and he did.

He was too much for ordinary people; and although he wouldn't consider John ordinary, apparently he was still too much. He understood all of this perfectly.

What he didn't understand where him emotions towards his departure.

He was used to people leaving. In truth he expected John's departure to be the same as everyone else's. Tinged with a bit of disappointment, but easily recovered from.

He should have known better though; because John is most certainly not the same as everyone else.

The day John took the last of his things Sherlock felt an odd sort of twinge in his chest _(heart?)_

This was something more than disappointment. This was...

Hurt.

Sherlock was hurt by the fact that John was leaving. But why? John was simply overwhelmed with everything; he didn't mean it as a personal slight to Sherlock.

So why was it painful?

Sherlock didn't have an answer, so he shoved the irritating and confusing emotions aside;

said farewell to John, telling him to keep in touch.

However Sherlock had the sinking feeling that he would never hear from John again.

People never kept in touch. Not with him anyway; and usually he was fine with that.

His life had little time for socializing.

Yet the though of never hearing John's voice again; or seeing his face bothered Sherlock immensely.

Luckily he had several experiments to keep him occupied for the rest of the day.

It was the next morning when he really began to notice changes.

He awoke with the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Was someone in his flat; an attacker waiting for him?

Slowly he climbed out of bed, crept to the living room; his senses on "high-alert" for anything unusual.

Nothing. Everything was in order; or as close to order as things ever came in 221B.

So why did he have the sense that something was terribly wrong?

"_Because it is."_ said a strange voice in his head. _"John isn't here and that is terribly wrong."_

The voice was inside his head, yet he had no idea where it came from or what it meant.

One thing he did know was that it was driving him up the wall. All day it went on about John; no matter what he was doing. He simply couldn't stop thinking about him.

He even considered "deleting" John so he could have some peace.

But that damn voice came back saying _"That's cold Sherlock. Even for you."_

Cold. That's what was wrong with the flat.

It was bloody cold and empty. All because John wasn't there.

Irrational sentimental notions.

Perhaps the absence of another body generating heat was responsible for the chill; he tried to convince himself.

Hoping for some distraction he pulled out his violin to play. It always cleared his mind.

However it didn't work, because he found himself waiting to hear John scold him for killing the violin.

Finally he decided he should try and sleep. Utterly dull, but at least he wouldn't think.

He laughed wryly at that. It had been a very long time since he'd fought not to think.

That plan however backfired; because when you sleep you have dreams.

Or in his case nightmares.

_**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway,**_

_**KP**_


	3. Nightmares

_**AN: I had some unexpected free time so here is chapter 3 way ahead of schedule. It's a bit troubling how much I enjoyed writing these nightmares for Sherlock...**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock, until he does so I own nothing.**

"_Sherlock I'm moving out."_

Sherlock glanced over the top of his laptop screen, to see John standing in front of him.

"_What?" "I'm moving out. This life, the cases; it's just all too much. I'm going to start looking for a flat tomorrow."_ Sherlock nodded; absorbing this startling and disappointing information. After a moment he lets out a small sigh_. "Alright John."_ then goes back to his work.

That's exactly how the conversation occurred in real-life. It's what happens next that causes Sherlock to wake in a cold sweat; tears_, yes tears,_ prickling in his eyes. They're suddenly at the door and John has two duffel bags in hand, preparing to leave. _"Why do you have to go John? I know you said the cases are too much; but you don't have to help with them. Why can't you stay?"_ he pleads.

John just shakes his head grimly_. "It's not just the cases Sherlock. It's you. You're too cold. You're very presence is painful Sherlock. You're arrogant and heartless. You don't care about me; about anyone. I can't live with that." "No John! That's not true. I do care about you! And other people too. Honestly, I'm just not good at showing it. I'm not cold!" _He insists his voice raising a few notches in desperation. John just shakes his head.

"_You are Sherlock. Cold as ice."_ he says turning for the door. Then things get rather bizarre. Sherlock grabs John and shoves him against the wall saying _"I am not cold John Watson! And I intend to prove that to you!"_ He then kisses John passionately. Or attempts to anyway. John however shoves him off; giving him a death glare that would freeze fire itself_. "Stop screwing with me Holmes. I'm leaving"_ and storms out.

Sherlock wakes feeling heartbroken; a sensation he never actually thought existed, just something conjured up by poets and hopeless romantics. Apparently he was wrong.

But that nightmare isn't the one that haunts him through his waking hours.

He is in a cheap motel room; tied to a chair. There is another Sherlock in the room; who has apparently tied him there. There are subtle differences between himself and the other Sherlock. The other Sherlock; whom he has an urge to refer to as "Holmes" has dark almost black eyes and his cheekbones seem more defined in a gaunt, almost malicious way. He notices there is laptop sitting on a small table; and he can see that there is a video-chat open. Holmes sits in another chair, pulling it closer to the table and Sherlock sees John come onscreen.

"_Hey Sherlock."_ He says addressing Holmes. _"How are thing going for you?" "They would be going better if you weren't constantly bothering me Watson. I'm very busy on cases"_ Holmes replies in a cool clipped tone. John looks a bit confused and stung_. "Oh, I - uh, Sorry. It's just you said to um- keep in touch."_ he stammers. Holmes let out a long-suffering sigh_. "Oh that. It was an experiment. You see I have this theory that certain common phrases are exchanged out of courtesy and have no true intention behind them, nor any expectation of reciprocation or follow-through. You've disproved that theory by calling and texting me constantly. Why must you ruin everything Watson?"_ John looks like he's been slapped. The "real" Sherlock is shouting _"Don't listen to him John! It's not true, I really meant for you to keep in touch. You're a marvelous friend."_ But John can't hear him_. "I - I'm really sorry Sherlock. I never meant to ruin anything. I'm just not ready to let you go yet. I can't lose you Sherlock. I love you."_

Sherlock can't help but smile at that. John loves him. That's absolutely brilliant! But Holmes just laughs coldly_. "John you're so ordinary with your sentiments of love. I certainly hope you're not looking to gain the same sort of confession from me with your revelation. I can't love; I'm a sociopath remember? I have no feelings; I have no heart. Do the world a favor Watson and get over it."_ Now Sherlock is struggling with his bonds, shouting _"Don't listen to him John! I have a heart! I have to have a heart, because you can't love without one and I love you!"_ But John still can't hear him. He looks like he's literally been stabbed. Despite the fact that he knows John can't hear him; he continues struggling and shouting for John not to listen to the "Sherlock" on the video-chat. Then comes an explosion from John's end.

Sherlock stops; simply staring in shock at the flames on the screen. Holmes laughs and slowly begins to morph into Moriarty. He stands and turns to face Sherlock; a manic smile on his face_. "I warned you Sherlock. I told you I would burn your heart out. Looks like I blew it up instead. Oops."_

Sherlock wakes up screaming and crying every time.

**If convenient please review, if inconvenient review anyway.**

**KP**


	4. Examine The Evidence

_**AN: Wow – I'm updating much faster than I excepted to! So here is chapter 4 in which our favorite consulting detective finally manages to deduce some very important information about himself. This will probably be the last chapter from Sherlock's POV as John will be returning in the next chapter – yay!**__  
><em>_**Also a big THANK YOU! To everyone who has favorited and/or Alerted this story so far – but I have to say I would love some reviews. Just a simple "like it" or "hate it" will suffice!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock; until he does so I own nothing.**

He doesn't know what to make of these nightmares. He's never had nightmares before; despite all the death and gore he sees on an almost daily basis. What do they mean? Is he really in love with John? His subconscious certainly seems to think so. That warm elated feeling he gets in the dreams, when John says he loves him has to mean something. And the fact that the very thought of John being injured or killed; starts a fire in his being; has to mean something too. He's never experienced heat like this before; this rage. He feels like he could literally explode from it.

But does it really mean he loves John? What does it mean to be in love anyway?  
>He's not really sure; he's never really experienced it. He knows in principle the chemicals and physical reactions that are responsible for the emotions. He even has a basic grasp of the emotions commonly associated with love. Loyalty, protectiveness, acceptance of on and other, simple affection and physical attraction.<br>But does that apply to him and John? He begins to examine the evidence piece by piece.

_Loyalty: _ Yes. He knows he can always depend on John, no matter what. And he was always willing to help John with anything he truly needed; even if John doesn't realize that.

_Protectiveness:_ Definitely. John killed for him in the first days of his acquaintance. And Sherlock had saved his life multiple times. There was one sure-fire way to raise Sherlock's wrath; and that was to threaten John.

_Acceptance_: Absolutely. He doesn't care that John had a limp; that he has scars. He doesn't care that John is an ex-soldier who likes to wear sweaters that look like they belong on teddy-bears. Actually he's quite fond of them. He accepted the fact that like everyone else John has to engage in mundane everyday life; eating, sleeping, working, courtesy, small-talk ect.  
>And John accepted him; which was a new experience for Sherlock. People had tolerated him; but never accepted before. John accepted the experiments, the long silences, the violin music and the never ending cases and chases. He accepted him during his darker days; when he was bored and his own mind turned against him. He accepted his carelessly made comments that offended most others and his brilliance without jealousy or complaint. Even when he left; John hadn't said anything against him; just the lifestyle.<p>

_Simple Affection_: Sherlock's not sure on this one. The dictionary states that affection is a fond attachment to someone. He is very fond of John. He enjoys his presence. He likes the fact that they can laugh with each other. He likes the comfortable silences in the evening when Johns updating his blog and he is experimenting or researching. He likes invading John's personal space, curling up next to him when they watch telly, or standing closely beside him when they're working. And John doesn't seem to mind at all. Sometimes when they're on a case; waiting around for Lestrade to finalize things John will shift closer to Sherlock; shoulders brushing and lean into him a bit. Like he wants to snuggle up to him. And when Sherlock raises a question eyebrow at him he would always shrug and say _"It's cold."_  
>So; yes, he decides. Affection too.<p>

_Physical Attraction:_ Surprisingly yes. Surprising because Sherlock's rarely attracted to people physically. He's generally more concerned with intellect. But he is attracted to John. He loves his warm smiles and brown eyes. He loves his short sandy hair and that adorable look he gets on his face when he finally understands something that Sherlock is trying to explain. Is John attracted to him though? He's not really sure; he's caught John staring at him a few times; but perhaps he was simply lost in thought and didn't realize where his gaze had settled.

Damn.  
>He really does love John. It was so blatantly obvious he can't believe he'd missed it before. Spectacularly ignorant indeed. So he loved him; in his own Sherlockian way, now the question was what to do about it? He has no idea how John actually feels about him. Based on the evidence he considered it would seem John returned his feelings; yet John left. But then he let him. How can he possibly explain these new-found feelings to John; considering he let John walk away from him less than a week ago with no objection? And it was very likely that John didn't return his feelings. That was simply too painful to contemplate.<p>

He doesn't know what to do; but he knows he can't go on like this. The haunting nightmares and now this weight of probably unrequited love is going to destroy him.  
>There has to be some escape.<p> 


	5. Needs You

_**AN: So I said John would be coming back in this chapter and here he is! My original plan was to have him return to 221B in this chapter as well but it didn't quite flow that way. Also since I spent time giving a feel of how Sherlock is without John I wanted to do the same for John without Sherlock. It's a short chapter but hopefully it works.**_

_**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited and/or altered this story!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock; until he does so I own nothing. **

It has been two weeks since he left 221B Baker Street. He's staying in a hotel because when Mycroft found out he was moving out he "suggested" that John might not want to sign a lease for a new flat just yet. He might change his mind; so he'd put John up in a hotel for an indefinite period.

John was sitting at the small table that now served as his desk; drumming his fingers trying to think of something to put on his blog. He's been doing so for about half an hour, with no inspiration. Ever since he walked out of Sherlock's life; nothing happened to him. He was struggling to adjust to this new-found quiet dullness that he existed in. He's tried to convince himself it is nice that the fridge was body-part free, nice to be able to sleep through the night without a violin screeching or running about London all hours of the night, catching criminals and the flu. That lasted all of 24 hours; now he was just stuck missing Sherlock and firmly reminding himself that this is what his life would be like so he had to get used to it. He wasn't having much luck with that.

His phone beeped; distracting him from the task at hand. As he fishes it out of his pocket he smiles wryly; remembering that for the first three days after he left the flat every time the phone beeped he dashed to answer it a part of him hoping it was a text from Sherlock asking him to return. But that was just foolish; Sherlock wasn't that sort. Hell he probably had barely noticed John's absence. Glancing at his phone he was surprised to see it was Lestrade calling him.

"_Hello?" "Hey John, its Greg." "Yeah, hey. What's up?"_ If Lestrade was calling him something had to be amiss. Sure, they got on fairly well; but that was because of their mutual acquaintance with Sherlock. They weren't really friends. _"Well, it's about Sherlock. We've got a triple murder case for him. So I texted like always, but he didn't answer. After about 15 minutes of waiting, I tried texting him again and still no answer. I started to get worried so I called him..."_

Lestrade trails off; like he's bracing himself before he continues. _"Yes?"_ John prompts. Lestrade lets out a heavy sigh_. "Look John, I don't really know what happened with you and Sherlock, but I'm worried about him and you're the only one who can even remotely get though to him. Please go check on him. When I called, he answered; thank god, but he sounded like hell. I tried to explain the case but he wasn't making any sense; going on about being cold and empty..."_ another sigh. _"I don't know John; I really don't, but off the record, between you and me Sherlock's got problems. He was in pretty deep when I first met him with drugs and such. So far as I know he's been clean for awhile; but..."_ John is really worried now. What should he do? Lestrade was obviously worried; but could he really just waltz back into the flat? There were a number of logical explanations as to why Sherlock may have sounded that way; could be one of his bad/bored days, right? Sherlock didn't need people; he'd said that himself. But what if that had changed? What if Sherlock did need him? Did it matter? Why should he submit himself to emotional torture for Sherlock's sake? Now that was a stupid question. He's in love with the man and he knows that no matter what arguments of self-preservation his logical mind might form he will go to Sherlock anyway_. "Don't worry Greg; I'm on my way over to see him now." _

**If convenient please review; If inconvenient review anyway.**

**KP**


	6. Returning

_**AN: So John finally returns to 221B in this chapter. I have to say I'm rather nervous about this one since there is drug use involved and my knowledge of such things is very very limited.**_

_**Hopefully Sherlock isn't too unrealistic in his reactions/state of mind. Let me know your thoughts and please forgive my ignorance - hopefully it doesn't ruin the chapter. Also I probably won't be able to update again until Monday or Tuesday - busy weekend. Anyway – enjoy!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock; until he does so I own nothing.**

221B Baker Street. When he left here two weeks ago; he thought he would never come back. Yet here he is, preparing for the blast of delicious coldness that is Sherlock Holmes to reenter his life. That's the plan anyway. He still has his key; don't ask why, so he goes right up. He ascends the stairs slowly, playing through possible scenarios in his mind as to how this might all go down. He reaches the flat and goes right in without knocking; its habit more than anything.

The flat is completely dark. Curtains firmly shut so that not even a sliver of sunlight filters through_. "Sherlock?"_ He calls; panic rising. He is greeted by a low moan coming from the direction of the couch. _"John? Come back again have you? Third time today."_ What in hell is he on about? _"Sherlock, what're you talking about? What's happened to you?"_ he asks, moving forward slowly; trying to feel his way in the dark towards Sherlock's voice_. "Ah well you see my dear John; you left. And I didn't know how much that would bother me; but it does. It hurts and I couldn't stand it. I took something to help; so it doesn't really hurt anymore. But you keep coming back. I keep seeing you walk through that door. That's why I turned off the lights; so I couldn't see you."_ Lestrade is right; he's relapsed. _"Oh God Sherlock, what have you taken?" "Strange. You're the first of my delusions to say anything remotely 'John-like'. All of the others have burst in declaring their undying love for me. Or hatred; there have been a few of those as well._

_Do you hate me John?"_ he asks; his voice strangely detached_. "Sherlock you complete idiot. Of course I don't hate you. Do you really think I would come here just to tell you that?" "No. But then delusions don't make sense John."_ John swore under his breath _"I'm not a delusion Sherlock! I'm really here."_ He'd finally managed to locate a lamp switch and flicked it on; light flooding the room_. "Oh my god."_ he thinks to himself.

If Lestrade thought Sherlock sounded like hell he should see him. Pale grayish skin, dark bags under his eyes, lying limply on the couch looking like all the life and color had been wrung out of him. He knelt beside the couch taking on of Sherlock's hands in his own. _"Listen to me Sherlock. I am real. I'm the living breathing John Watson. I need you to tell me what you've taken and how much so I can figure out what to do about it alright?"_ Sherlock stirred slightly; turning his head to look at John_. "Why should I believe you? My other delusions have tried to convince me of the same thing. You're not real. You're just here to torture me. To give me false hope." "What are you on about Sherlock? What false hope?"_ Even drugged Sherlock managed his _"Are you really that stupid?"_ look. _"That you love me back John."_ It took a moment for John's mind to process and understand that Sherlock had just confessed that he was in love with him_. "Oh my god Sherlock"_ he groaned_. "Of course you have to tell me this while you're high." "Of course John."_ Sherlock responds_. "If I wasn't high; you wouldn't be here for me to tell."_

John was beginning to lose it. Being told that your best friend returns what you thought was unrequited love while he is high; is really too much for anyone to take. So he does the only thing he can think of; he kisses Sherlock. Well "kiss" is a bit mild for the passionate attack he launches on Sherlock's lips; pouring all his frustration and desperation into it; his mind _chanting "I'm real Sherlock. Please believe that I'm real."_ When they break apart John demands _"Still think I'm a delusion you daft git?"_ Sherlock shifts, sitting straight up looking directly at John_. "Are you really here? Delusions can make physical contact, or at least the brain reads it as physical; though none of the other have before. It felt real. It felt wonder-" "Yes Sherlock. I'm here."_ John says cutting him off. There is a brief silence and then Sherlock groans; falling forward holding his head. _"John I- I - ow. I can't think."_ He manages. _"The drugs are wearing off. You're crashing. Let's get you to bed alright? We can sort this all out when you're clean."_ John says standing and offering Sherlock his hand. Sherlock manages to nod and stand. John loops his arm around him; letting Sherlock lean on him. They made their way slowly to Sherlock's room; John gently eased him onto the bed. As he turns to leave he hears Sherlock _"John?" "Yes?" "Stay with me. Please."_ he says gesturing to the other half of the bed. John lets out a soft sigh; but climbs onto the other half of the bed. _"Don't worry Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere. Just sleep."_ And he did.

**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway**

**KP**


	7. Awaken

_**AN: Okay here is the final chapter in which our boys get everything sorted out. Hope you guys like how I've ended this – I rewrote this chapter at least four times before I finally got the "vibe" I wanted. I wanted a happy ending; but I didn't want it to mushy; because that's just not JohnLock. Also - the italicized words are dialogue. There's a good bit in here and I was concerned it might get lost in the other stuff; so hopefully that doesn't throw anyone off. Oh and there will be an epilogue which I should be getting up in a few days – it will probably be rather fluffy.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.**

Sherlock stirred . His head felt like it's been pounded by a hammer. He groaned as he rolled over, stretching out across the bed. There was no one else in bed; he realized.

His foggy mind was slow to understand the relevance of that fact.

Why would there be someone else? Slowly memories from the day before began to seep into his consciousness and he understood. _"John!"_ He shouted leaping out of bed; headache completely forgotten. _"John!"_ he shouted rushing into the living room_. "Please be here!" "Joh-" "Sherlock!"_ the voice came sharply from the kitchen; cutting him off. He spun around to see John; looking equally exasperated and amused; standing there with two steaming mugs of tea. "You're here." He whispered almost disbelievingly. John smiled _"Of course I am. I told you I would stay."_ He moved forward offering one mug to Sherlock; who took it still looking a bit bemused.

"You should sit down." John said gesturing over to the couch.

Sherlock didn't move; he simply asked _"Why?"_ Now John was getting confused.

"_Well, I just think you should. You're body still needs to recover from yesterday." _

"_No. Why are you here?" _ Now John was thoroughly confused. Hadn't they already covered this? _"You asked me to stay last night Sherlock. So I did."_

Sherlock let out an irritated sigh. _"I know that John. What I mean is why did you come back in the first place?" "Oh; Lestrade called me. He was worried about you, said you weren't taking cases."_ Something shifted in Sherlock's demeanor_. "Oh; so Lestrade sent you to check up on me then."_ He inquired; his voice strangely cool.

"_Yeah, basically."_ Sherlock nodded his face stony; confusing John even more.

What was his problem? A case of wounded pride or something?

While John was working this over in his mind; Sherlock set his cup down before settling himself on the couch; looking resolutely away from John. _"I'm sorry you had to see me like that John. But I'm fine now; you can text Lestrade and let him .I need to get started on the case. You should probably be getting home."_ John's completely lost; a bit hurt and rather irritated. How can Sherlock just dismiss him like this?

"_Sherlock I'm not going anywhere. Not until we talk about last night."_ He said, unconsciously assuming a military stance and tone. Sherlock leaned back on the couch letting out an irritated huff_. "Clearly there is nothing to talk about 'Captain Watson'."_ He snipped. Now John is just pissed. _"What is hell are you on about Sherlock! Of course there is something to talk about. You confessed your love for me last night; or did that slip your brilliant mind?"_ _"I'm quite aware of what I said last night John."_

He responded coolly. _"It simply doesn't matter." "Of course it does Sherlock! You said you love me; that's kind of a big deal; for normal people at least. Or was it just the drugs talking!" _ _"Of course not John! Even in a drugged state I still have enough of my mental facilities to keep myself from making false confessions." _

"_So then why are you just sending me on my way? Why don't you want to talk this out? Why did you let me walk out of this flat two weeks ago without objection? Hell, you didn't even seem to care Sherlock!"_

Sherlock spoke slowly; as if carefully choosing each word_. "I didn't care John. Well, I did just not to the same degree. You were my friend and I was disappointed that you were leaving. But people always leave me John; I'm used to it."_

John groaned in frustration; pinching the bridge of his nose_. "I still don't understand Sherlock. How did we get from a disappointed friend to drugs and love confessions? You can't fall in love with someone in two weeks Sherlock! Especially when that person isn't_ _in your life!" _ Sherlock wore his trademark that "Don't be stupid" look as he said

"_I didn't fall in love with you in two weeks John." "But you just sai-"_ "_I was already in love with you; have been for quite some time; it just took me two weeks of your absence to realize and admit it."_ _"So what, you spent two weeks missing me so much that you realized you loved me?" "Don't be ridiculous John. You're absence alone was not enough_." "_Then what Sherlock? Walk me though this because I'm not understanding!"_

"_Nightmares John. After you left I started to have nightmares about your last day here. Only it was different. You said -" _ he faltered for a moment before continuing.

"_You said I was cold and that I didn't care about anybody. I confess my love to you but you tell me that I am impossible to love. Then there's another one; Moriarty is in it and he torturing you. But he's doing it emotionally; telling you that I don't love you and such then he -"_ he stops again taking a breath "_He blows you up. And I'm screaming and..."_

Sherlock trails off his eye clenched shut; like him fighting off tears.

All John's anger has faded away leaving a sort of horror and sorrow at Sherlock's state. He knows about nightmares and how crippling they are.

Just as he starts to speak; Sherlock starts talking again_. "I spent days analyzing them; trying to determine if they feeling I experienced in them were true. I realized they where and that I love you. But you left and I thought that meant that the other part of my nightmare were true."_ He pauses for a moment as if he's gathering up his courage.

"_Am I impossible to love John?"_ He finally whispers so quietly that John almost misses it. That's the last question he ever expected to hear coming from Sherlock's mouth.

But then he never expected a love confession either. Sherlock is sitting there head hung, eyes closed as if he's already resigned himself to the answer he expects.

John moves toward Sherlock and sits down next to him_. "No, you're not."_ Sherlock opens his eyes and sits up in surprise as John continues speaking "_Unless I can do the impossible; which I've always thought of as more your area. I do love you; that's why I left. I was utterly convinced that you would never return my feelings and I was drowning in it. But that's also why I came back. Because I couldn't bear the thought that something might have happened to you." _ _"So you left two weeks ago because you loved me and were convinced that I would never love you. While you're gone I come to realize my feelings for you through a series of nightmare and I'm convinced that you could never love me because you walked out two weeks ago; because you love me too much."_

John lets out a soft chuckle "_We're a right pair of idiots aren't we Sherlock?" _

"_I believe the term 'spectacularly ignorant' applies."_ he responds; joining in on the laughter.

**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway**

**KP**


	8. Epilouge

_**AN: Okay here is the Epilogue and final chapter of the fic. I hope you've all enjoyed it.**_

_**I wanted to do something a bit fluffy; but also keep it in character for Johnlock. Hopefully I managed that. Let me know what you think!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock Holmes; until he brings them I don't own anything.**

"_Took you long enough Freak. We called you over and hour ago." _

Sally Donovan snips as John and Sherlock approach the pub turned crime scene.

"_47 minutes; agent Donovan. John and I were busy; it's not my fault you call at the most inopportune moments." _Sherlock responded smoothly. She made a strange sort of spluttering noise and Anderson; who was standing near by turned a rather odd shade of green. Poor John was downright embarrassed. In reality they'd been in the middle of an experiment with some very acidic chemicals that they couldn't leave unattended; but the way Sherlock made it sound...

Sherlock surveyed their faces _"Not good?"_ He inquired towards John_. "Bit not good."_ John managed weakly. _"Oh. Sorry then."_ he said; directing his apology towards John before continuing towards the crime scene; ducking under the police tape.

John scurried after him; desperately hoping that he wasn't blushing by the time they reached Lestrade. Upon seeing them Lestrade launched right in; explaining the case. _"We've got a 24 year old female, found this morning by the pub's owner when she opened up for the day. She doesn't know the girl; nobody does. She's got no ID. Also-"_ Sherlock cut him off _"John do a preliminary exam." _John isn't sure exactly when this became "standard procedure" for them; but it was. At every case John did a basic medical examination to determine cause of death; injuries and any other relevant information. Then Sherlock would piece together the rest. He nodded and knelt by the body; while Sherlock continued listening to the case details from Lestrade. After a few minutes he _stood "She's got bruising indicative of a struggle and a broken rib; but not enough physical injuries to kill her. She appears to be diabetic judging by the visibility of injection site from continual usage. Also she's got abrasions on her legs and knees like she was drug; looks like carpet burns; so she probably wasn't killed here; just planted. Make of it what you will"_ he says; stepping aside so that Sherlock can do his own examination. Sherlock smiled. "Thank you dear." he said, carelessly dropping a kiss on John's cheek as he moved to kneel for his own examination.

"_Holy Shit!"_ came Lestrade's eloquent proclamation. John did his best to act nonchalant about it; and failed miserably_. "Did I just see what I thought I saw?"_ Donovan asked as she approached them_. "Did the psychopathic Freak just display emotion? Has hell frozen over?"_ she sneered_. "Maybe you should take a trip there to find out for yourself!"_

John snapped before he could stop himself. Lestrade looked rather surprised and a bit amused. Donovan's eyes bugged out in shock and even Sherlock glanced up from his examination in mild surprise at John's outburst. The mild-mannered doctor had never snapped at anyone before; he was always the one preventing Sherlock from snapping. Normally John would apologize to someone when he lashed out like that but he wasn't going to this time. He stood there; arms folded as Lestrade and Donovan continued to stare at him. _"Don't we have a case to solve?"_ he prompted.

"_Oh,um - Right."_ Lestrade said turning to Sherlock _"What've you got?"_ Sherlock opened his mouth to speak; then stopped cocking his head to the side.

"_John turn up that radio." "What radio?"_ John said casting his glance about for the item in question_. "There, on the shelf behind the bar. Turn it up."_ _"Okay"_ John said moving towards it. He'd learned not to question Sherlock; even when his requests seemed ridiculous. He reached it and turned the volume dial so that the lyrics rang clearly through the pub _"I have no feelings; I have no heart. Love always cuts out the warm tender part"_ it was Cold by Elton John. Sherlock turned towards John; a smirk on his lips.

"_Just as I thought. It's our song!"_ he proclaims before giving John a wink and turning his attention back to Lestrade; who is clearly struggling with this "new Sherlock".

"_Y-you have a song?"_ Donovan stammers disbelievingly_. "Obviously."_ John sneers back; feeling very much like Sherlock and enjoying it. He's had quite enough of Donovan's antics_. "What is wrong with the two of you? 'Love hurts so much, Love leaves a scar,' I don't love you' is like a stake, being driven through your heart'"_

She sneered mocking the singer. _"That's not a love song."_ John just shrugged his shoulders saying _"It is to us."_

"_Are you all even listening to the evidence I've gathered about the case or are you mediocre minds to infatuated with my love life to focus on the corpse lying at our feet?"_ Sherlock snapped; refocusing everyone's attention on him and the body.

Donovan is right; it is a rather bizarre love song; John muses as he listens to the lyrics. But they're a bizarre couple so it works. He suddenly realizes he's been humming along with the song.

Is humming at a crime scene worse than giggling at one?

**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway,**

**KP**


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